Robin Gamgee
by andbreathe
Summary: A story based on a name- Robin Gamgee. You'll find it in the family trees at the back of the LOTR books. Ever seen it? Ever wondered what it's like to be a child of Samwise Gamgee?


I don't suppose you'll have heard of me. Not many people have.

Well, 'cept my relatives. I've got lots of those.

But don't worry if you haven't. I wouldn't expect you to.

Robin Gamgee, that's my name. You'll recognise the Gamgee part, of course you will. Everyone's heard of Samwise Gamgee and Hamfast Gamgee and Elanor Gamgee. The famous marriage between Rose Cotton and Samwise Gamgee in '81. Gamgee's a name to remember. But _Robin_ \- that bit's a mystery, ain't it. Doesn't really _fit,_ does it? Robin Gamgee – it doesn't sound right. But it _is_ my name, and you'll find me on the Gamgee family tree, even if you have to look a bit. No, don't go looking now, I'm speaking to you.

Now take Elanor Gamgee. Now there's a name to conjure with. It means sun-star, that elven flower. A fair name for a fair maiden, and don't get me wrong, I know she is fair, fair enough to stop all the hearts in the Shire. And golden-haired too. Now that's a rare thing in the Shire. Not often you'll get a gold-haired hobbit child. That's something memorable, ain't it?

Well, it was until that summer of '20. That was a golden year in the Shire, in more ways than one, so Dad tells us. (Well, he would say that, it being the year he married Mam. Famous for its weddings, that year was.) Gold-brown barley ripening in the fields faster than you could speak, flaxen-haired children becoming commonplace, golden sunshine from the very beginning of spring to the last days of the autumn. It was as if Mother Earth herself was trying to make up for the dark years before, Dad says. He says at the time he couldn't imagine being happier.

That was before Elanor came along, of course.

She's famous among us hobbits. Fair as her name suggests, and what's more, the first child of Samwise Gamgee. It wasn't long before her fame spread throughout the Shire. The Sun-Star of the Shire, she's called. They talk about her as she passes by -

"That Elanor," they'd say, "she's got the beauty of the Elves, she has."

And I'd be willing to bet they talked of her even when she could still be carried in Mam's arms. "Elanor Gamgee, that's the name. She's going to grow into a fine hobbit, you mark my words." And whoever they were talking to would nod, and murmur an agreement, and remember something somebody told them about a Samwise Gamgee who went on an adventure in the South. And even though they knew hobbits don't go on adventures, they'd secretly look at Elanor Gamgee with a hint of awe.

This awe was still there when the second came along. Frodo he was named, and with his curly mop of brownish locks he could be for all the world the miniature version of his namesake. He and Elanor must have made a fine pair indeed.

Rose was the one who came next. The name was Dad's choice, because of Mam. She's a cheerful girl with an infectious smile, and I'll bet that smile would have seemed twice as big when it was on her new-born face. Frodo, Rose and Elanor. By now, the family must have started to feel complete.

But no, Dad and Mam obviously felt otherwise. Seven years and three children later, little Hamfast became number seven. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven Gamgee children, all in a row.

By that time the awe had worn off. It wasn't such a big thing to be a Gamgee child any more.

And there were still another four children before I, Robin, came along. I was number twelve, would you believe it. Number twelve, and everybody thought I was the last one.

That doesn't make Robin Gamgee a very remarkable person, does it? Twelfth child of Samwise and Rosie. You won't have heard of me. Nobody's heard of me. I'm just a name on the family tree, nothing more, because I'm in the middle of so many other names that it's easy to think I'm just another bunch of letters ordered in a certain way. It's easy to forget that behind that name is a person, a living, breathing person. Robin. Me.

Look at where I am - right up at the end of the line, where nobody looks. It feels like I'm an afterthought. Not really needed for anything. A daisy in a field full of bigger, better daisies.

I suppose I can't complain. We can't all be adventurers and we can't all be famous. Some people are destined to be just ordinary people, and I'm fine with that.

But I can't help hoping.

It's not a very big thing that I hope for, just a little thing. All want is that one day sometime in the future I'll do something, it could be anything, that'll make me be recognised. That's not too much to ask, is it? Just a little bit of recognition in the streets. "That's Robin Gamgee, that is. Him who did this and that." All I want to is to be… someone. Not no-one. Not the last one, but not necessarily the first one either. Just someone.

That's a fair enough hope, ain't it? Not to be famous, not to be recognised throughout the whole of the world. Just to have someone notice me. Not too much to hope for, I'd say. Not too much.

So that's my tale. Now you know a bit about me. This story doesn't really have a purpose, in truth. I just needed to get it out somehow, and the pen and paper here were the only way I could see.

I hope Dad don't mind I've used his paper.

I haven't told the full story. I'll say it now, I haven't told the whole truth. I've been skipping, I have. There's a bit more to tell of the Gamgee story, and it's this.

When I wasn't too old, Gamgee number thirteen was born.

Tolman Gamgee. Tom.

My brother.

I wasn't last. I wasn't the last Gamgee child anymore. I was second to last, and somehow that made it even worse.

Because you see, being last would have been something for me to hold on to. It would have been my only claim to fame that I had, and I would have clung to it, savouring every bit of it that I could. It was my claim, I could hold onto the fact that I was the youngest and last Gamgee, and I was going to hold on to it for as long as I possibly could.

I would have done this, and more, if only that claim had lasted.

When Tolman was born, it no longer rung true.

My fame seemingly had ended.

But now…

I want to finish with something inspiring. I feel like I'm drawing to a close, and I want to finish this properly. But what do I say? That I got my fame after all? That's not an option, because it simply isn't true. Should I just finish without tying up my loose ends?

Am _I_ a loose end?

Yes, that's an inspiring thought. I'll finish with that.

Robin looks up from the page. The fire in front of him licks with its big orange tongues at the air, playing a never-ending game in its grate. The warmth gently strokes his face with its huge fingers, and he sighs. It's time to go to bed, but he doesn't want to go. He wants to wait for Dad to come back so he can sit down, put Robin on his knee like he's always done, even when Robin got too big. Robin can look Dad in the eye now, but Dad still hasn't given up. He'll still draw Robin upon his knee as if he were still four years old, and Robin's beginning to think he'll never stop. Secretly, Robin doesn't want him to stop.

He doesn't want the day to end just yet. Yes, he'll wait for Dad to come home.

He waits.

When Sam Gamgee enters his hole after a particularly long day gardening at the Burrowses', the first thing he sees is his dinner on the table. Curls of steam are still softly rising from it. Rosie can't have made it that long ago.

He supposes she's upstairs with Tolman and Robin.

As he goes to pick up the ageing wooden plate, stained with years of use and (more importantly) piled with good food, something catches his eye. It's a piece of yellow paper, bright in the gloom of the candle-lit house, lying writing-side down on his writing table. The ink has almost soaked through the paper onto the other side, but not quite. Sam picks it up, carefully turning it over.

Suddenly there is a movement in the corner of his eye. Sam looks up, and as his eyes adjust to the dark, the sleeping figure of Robin appears out of the shadows, curled up on Sam's armchair and slumbering peacefully.

Sam smiles. Seeing any of his children safe, asleep, and peaceful like Robin now is never fails to give him a warm feeling inside. The paper softly drops from his hand onto the table, forgotten, and he goes over to Robin. Bending down, he gently ruffles his son's hair.

Robin stirs. His eyes flicker open, and, seeing Sam, he murmurs: "Dad."

"Yes." Sam replies.

"Dad?"

"Yes, Robbie?"

"Am I…"

"Are you what, Rob?"

"Never mind." Robin pauses. "I used your paper."

Sam glances behind him. The sheet of writing paper lies upon the table, fluttering ever so slightly. "That's alright, Rob. What did you write?

"You're not allowed to read it," says Robin sulkily.

Sam laughs. "I won't, Robbie, if you don't want me to."

"Good." says Robin, still trying to be huffy, but after he says it he breaks off and looks at his Dad. "Can I sit on your knee?"

"Yes, you can," chuckles Sam. He parks himself in the space next to Robin, pulling him up onto his lap. "My, you're a big boy now, Robin," he comments. "Maybe you're getting too big to sit on my knee."

"I've been a big boy for a long time, Dad," says Robin, "But …" He trails off.

"But not too big to sit on your old Dad's knee," Sam finishes good-naturedly for him.

"You're not old, Dad," says Robin.

Sam looks into the fire. "Thanks, Robbie. I just feel like… Well, I've seen a few things. Enough to make me feel old. I've had more than my fair share of adventure, that's all."

Robin is silent for a moment. "Wasn't it very fun, going on an adventure?" he says.

His dad fiddles with one of his waistcoat button absent-mindedly. He doesn't say anything for a long time. "I suppose… it was exciting, but I wouldn't want to live through it again."

"Why not?"

"Adventures aren't what you think they are, Rob," says Sam. He sits back in his chair, remembering. "There were many times when we could have almost died, we could. It wasn't easy."

"Defeating the evil wizard, you mean?" asks Rob.

"Sharkey… no, that isn't what I mean." He pauses. "I'm talking about the journey to Mordor."

Robin looks up sharply. Sam always made a point of never talking about what happened in Mordor. Only Rosie was told any more than the bare detail- why would he be talking about it now?

Sam gives Robin a weary smile, taking a breath. "In Mordor, many things happened that I wouldn't like to relive again. The memories alone of the place were too much for Frodo."

"Frodo?" Robin is confused. He's thinking of his brother Frodo Gamgee, who would most definitely never be motivated enough to go any further than his own garden path, let alone into Mordor.

"Yes, Frodo. He was haunted by his memories every night, when he went to sleep. That's why he left."

"You mean Frodo Baggins," Robin realises. "Your friend."

"Yes, my friend, and so much more than that. I'm proud to have known him."

"And gone with him on the Quest as well, you mean, Dad."

Sam smiles. "Yes, I did. I did, didn't I."

There is a silence, and Sam starts to gaze into the fire again. Robin feels like he has to break it. He doesn't like seeing Dad so silent and sombre, not at all like the jolly hobbit he usually is. "Why was Mordor so terrible, Dad?" As soon as the words are out of his mouth Robin wants to call them back in again. It was a tactless, idiotic thing to say. He bites his lip.

To his surprise, Sam doesn't fall into silence. Instead he takes a deep breath. "We had to go to Mordor to destroy the Ring," he begins.

Robin nods. He knows this.

"But Robin, it wasn't just a matter of dropping it into the fires and tootling off back home again. There were dangers… We got captured by the orcs once."

Robin gasps audibly.

"But the real danger, the thing that hurt Mr Frodo so much, well, that was the Ring itself."

"How was that, Dad?" Robin asks. He can hardly believe Sam is telling him all this. After all those years of trying to forget, he's letting it out. To Robin. To him.

"The Ring wasn't just metal, Rob. It had… a sort of _evil_ in it. An evil that turned the wearer's heart bad. And it didn't let you go. It got you in its grip and poisoned you against everyone around you… And it was heavy. It exhausted you."

Robin frowns. His dad sounds like he's talking from _experience_. His own experience. "Dad, did you- did you carry the Ring?"

Sam is silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nods.

"You're so brave, Dad," Robin says in admiration.

For a moment it looks like Sam is going to contradict him, but then he smiles. "Maybe I am. But I'm telling you… there was no-one braver in those dark times than Mr Frodo. I may have carried the Ring for a short while, but _he_ carried it all the way to the Crack of Doom." He looks into the fire again, but this time the mournful, far-away look is gone. His face has lost its drawn look, and he looks happier. "Mr Frodo was a very remarkable hobbit. Still is. I'm telling you, if anyone's worth your awe, it's Mr Frodo."

Robin pauses. He looks up at Sam. "But _you're_ my Dad."

Sam chuckles. "Yes," he says. "Yes, I am." And he puts his arms around Robin, and Robin buries his head in Sam's shirt, and he doesn't let go for a long time.


End file.
